Mate’s Harvest: Bear Sheriff III Read online

  Mate’s Harvest

  Bear Sheriff III

  Becca Fanning

  Copyright © 2018 by Becca Fanning

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Becca Fanning

  Chapter 1

  For once, Angie Campbell was happy. There was nothing to bother her anymore. Instead, Marcus was right next to her, one of his large hands on her stomach, rubbing gently. Angie giggled as he sat up in bed, just enough to place his soft lips upon her belly. She could feel their child kicking inside. Just the thought of it was enough to melt her heart.

  He said something, then, but she was so focused on her belly, their child, that she didn’t catch what he said.

  What? she asked. He repeated his words. She couldn’t understand what he said, so she glanced over at him, but the kind face of Marcus was no longer there.

  It was replaced by a man she didn’t recognize. The golden eyes were the same, if a little dulled, but the face underneath it was lined and gaunt, almost like whoever was lying next to her in their bed was wearing a mask of Marcus.

  She thought she screamed then but it was all drifting away and he was back besides her, smiling happily, and somehow, Angie felt herself relax.

  Everything is okay.

  Birds were chirping and she felt warmth on her face.

  I love you, he said, though it was distant, echoing, almost as if he wasn’t there at all. And she suddenly knew that he wasn’t.

  The chirps were more insistent, no longer cute and carefree, but rather annoying, and the sunlight wasn’t warm, but hot on her face.

  She willed those thoughts of Marcus to come back, willed herself into his arms, but he was slipping away, away…

  Angie Campbell awoke slowly in her bed, and she was completely and utterly alone. She rubbed her eyes with a groan of frustration. Rolling over onto her belly – which was just beginning to show her pregnancy – she reached up and pulled down the window, shutting out the birds chirping from outside. The sun still beat through the window so she closed the blinds and collapsed back into bed with a sigh.

  Whatever she’d been dreaming, she wanted it back. She remembered happiness, remembered that Marcus had been with her. But it was all slipping away, already lost to wakefulness. She remembered a slight feeling of unease, though that too was fading away.

  Another day.

  She laid in bed for longer than she should have, glancing at the clock every few minutes until she could now longer put off the inevitable. Another groan as her feet touched the floor and she was out of bed, stumbling out of the room she’d shared so briefly with Marcus, down the hallway, and to the bathroom. Using the trick Marcus had taught her, she began a shower, sitting down on the toilet as she waited for the water to warm up just enough so it wasn’t freezing well water.

  Satisfied that the water was at a pleasant coolness, Angie peeled off her sweat-soaked clothes and tossed them on the floor, adding to the pile of clothes that had steadily been building over the last week. She sighed when looking at them but couldn’t bring herself to pick them up, carry them to the washer, and begin a load. It was just too much.

  Angie grabbed her toothbrush, squirted a line of Marcus’s favorite toothpaste onto it, and stepped into the cool blast of water. She’d only been under the spray for half a minute before a wave of exhaustion took over and she found herself sliding down onto the floor of the tub, sitting under the shower, toothbrush dangling from her mouth and trying not to cry.

  It was never supposed to be like this. Why did it have to happen like this? Why?

  A few tears mixed with the water but she pushed them away. Now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to be strong, even if she didn’t think she could be. She leaned back, brushed her teeth slowly, and sat there until even the little warm water had been used up. She remained there until the water arching over her was ice cold, causing goosebumps to prickle all along her naked body.

  She shaved her legs slowly in the cold water, then realizing she could do no more on the floor of the tub, slowly stood up and grabbed the bar of soap. She grabbed a washcloth, rubbed the soap against it, and then slowly began to clean her body. She went through the motions without emotion; legs, arms, chest, and every inch of her cold flesh. Finally, she grabbed some shampoo and lathered her hair, rinsed it out, and grabbed the conditioner next.

  She rinsed herself out without any gusto, once again just doing what she needed to do. She turned off the water when the last of the suds swirled down the drain, pulled the curtain to the side and grabbed a towel. She dried off ever so slowly, almost mechanically, and looked at herself in the mirror.

  I look tired.

  And she was. She was completely and utterly exhausted and there was no end in sight.

  Wrapping the towel tightly around her, Angie opened the bathroom door and walked back through the living room, a wave of heat trying to strike her down. Even with the AC running, the hot and dry Arizona heat seemed to leak into the room, somehow draining her without even trying.

  Back in their room, Angie dropped the towel and pulled on some clothes. She used to carefully consider just what she would wear each day. Now it was whatever her hands grabbed out of the drawers first. An old pair of underwear. A sports bra, color almost completely faded. A pair of pants and a worn and wrinkling t-shirt one size too big. Mismatched socks.

  Then she was making her way down the hallway. She saw the coffee had already been brewed, so she grabbed one of Marcus’s chipped mugs – why hasn’t he thrown this thing away? Oh, that’s right, he can’t. He’s in jail. She grabbed the coffee pot and poured some out, waiting a few moments for it to cool. It was too dark and heavy but she forced a few hot gulps down and then pitched the rest into the sink.

  She looked out the front window, past the pine trees at the driveway and the cars parked in front of them. Down the driveway farther was the barn, a place she’d only been in once while running for her life. Somehow, thinking of that made her smile.

  He was there for me. And now he’s not.

  She sat down – no, more fell down – into one of the kitchen table chairs. Laid out on it were stacks of papers. Half of them were printouts her lawyer had given her. Another half were handwritten notes, phone numbers, little scraps of paper, business cards, anything and everything she’d accumulated over the past few phone calls. She grabbed Marcus’s old rotary phone, pulling the cord across the kitchen, and dialed a number that she knew by heart.

  “Angie.” The voice on the other end of the line was plain, unconcerned, maybe even bored.

  “Walt,” she said into the speaker. “What’s the latest?”

  There was a sigh at the other end from her lawyer, Walt Shoemaker. He was good at what he did and he’d helped her out of a nasty situation once before when she was younger. She trusted the man, cared for him,
but something about that sigh set her on edge.

  “Angie,” he said again. His voice was exasperated. “It’s the same as yesterday. And the day before. There’s nothing I can do until the trial. Maybe if the killings would continue, but…”

  Angie grimaced, a sudden surge of guilt running through her unchecked. Somewhere, deep inside of her, some place she’d never admit to having – she had wanted there to be another murder. She’d wanted someone else to die so Marcus could be cleared. But since Marcus had been arrested, the serial killer had gone quiet – and Marcus had taken the complete blame for his murders.

  “But what about the notes?” she asked, leafing through a stack of notes written in a blocky, exact font.

  Another sigh from Walt. “Like I said, the police believe he’s set these up to be mailed out on an exact schedule. It’s ludicrous, I know, but…”

  “I bet there’s one in the mailbox right now,” Angie said. “That has to count for something…”

  “Angie,” Walt said, his voice firm. She stopped talking. “I think I need to go back to New York until the trial. I’ve done all I can do here.”

  “I have money, Walt,” she told him. “I can increase your pay.”

  “It’s not the money, Angie. I have other clients, other cases I could be working. Right now we’re just spinning our wheels. Until the trial, we’ve done all we can do.”

  “So he just has to rot in jail while they keep pushing the trial back and back? How is that fair?”

  “It’s not, Angie. It’s not fair at all,” he told her, the hardness in his voice gone. She could almost hear the regret, though that didn’t make her feel any better. He was abandoning her. She would be all alone. “But until then, it’s what is going to happen. I need to go. My flight leaves this afternoon.”

  “Okay,” was all she said.

  “Angie?” he asked. When Angie didn’t answer, he said, “I’m not leaving you alone. I’m going to help when I can. When we get more information, I’ll fly right out. Drop everything I’m doing.” She almost slammed the receiver down but didn’t, yet she still didn’t say anything. “Angie. Do you remember when I was there for you, back when you were younger? When you were having those problems with Jonathan Hall? I’ve been there for you, Angie. And I’ll be there again. You have to believe that.”

  “I do, Walt,” she finally said. “Thank you. Call when you can.”

  “Goodbye, Angie.”

  “Bye, Walt.”

  The phone clicked off and Angie sat there for a few moments before she put the receiver back up. She felt strangely alone, strangely hollow, like Walt wouldn’t be there to help her when she needed him to be. But she knew that was ridiculous. All of those years ago when she’d been blackmailed by her ex-boyfriend, Jonathan Hall, Walt Shoemaker had been there to help her through the legal mess.

  Of course, Walt hadn’t known that Angie had been using illegal money from Jonathan Hall to fund all of her projects, and now he certainly didn’t know that Jonathan Hall was dead – but he knew enough to help her with this.

  She sat back in the chair and thought of Jonathan Hall. Dead. He had tried to kill her. He’d tried to destroy her career, tried to kill Marcus, tried to win her back over. And now he was dead.

  D. E. A. D. Dead. And why don’t I feel any guilt for that? What has happened to me?

  Angie didn’t have all of the answers. Hell, she didn’t want to. Her life had been a strange and dangerous roller coaster, starting illegally when she worked for Jonathan Hall, culminating in Mayor Copeland’s attempt to murder her, then being kidnapped by rogue FBI Shifters, and now being tracked by a serial killer while her Shifter boyfriend – that could turn into a bear, of course – rotted in jail, framed for the murders.

  So, no, she didn’t have all of the answers. She never would. What she did know was that she finally felt as if her life was getting on track with Sheriff Marcus Stone, and then it had all been ripped out from underneath her. She felt alone, confused, and utterly scared.

  But I won’t let it end like this. I won’t. I love Marcus.

  She put her hand to her stomach and knew that there was a life growing there, a life they’d conceived together, even through all of their problems.

  She went outside and locked the door behind her.

  “Ma’am,” a gruff voice said from beside her. She jumped. She hadn’t even heard the man walk up to her. He towered over her, his golden eyes glinting brightly in the early morning light.

  “Branson,” she said, making sure the door was shut tight. “Let’s go see Marcus.”

  The other Shifter – Branson, her bodyguard – nodded, and then he led her down the driveway and together they went to see the only man that mattered in Angie’s life.

  Chapter 2

  The man staring back at Marcus Stone was unrecognizable. For a split second, Marcus wanted to lash out at the man. Then he realized he was looking at himself in the mirror. He collapsed onto the bottom bunk with a sigh, running his hands through his long hair.

  His eyes were as bright as they’d ever been but they looked out from a tired and worn face, accompanied by long and unkempt hair and a dark, brown beard that resembled his pelt after he shifted. He looked wild, almost feral but he couldn’t complain about that. It kept most of the other prisoners at bay.

  He could complain about how worn he looked. He’d lost track of the days that he’d been locked up – first in the Haven County jail, then transferred to a more secure facility with others like him.

  No, not like me, he reminded himself. I’m not a killer. I was framed.

  But I am. How many people have I killed over the years? How many lives have been snuffed out because of me? How many more before I’m done?

  He growled and the man in the bunk opposite him shuddered and turned his eyes away from Marcus. Marcus stared at him for a few moments before turning his attention to outside of the bars.

  It wasn’t prison, far from it. But it was worse than the small county jail, worse than the Sheriff’s Department back in Charming. His cell was modest sized and contained four bunks. Two were occupied by men Marcus had no desire to interact with. The third was his and the fourth was empty. The man that slept on the bunk above Marcus’s had tried to talk to him the first day he’d been transferred but Marcus had glared at him and ignored him. Since then, the man had mostly given up talking to him. The third man wouldn’t look in his strange, golden eyes.

  Marcus stood up and stretched, walking over to the bars. After he’d been locked up, he’d tried to stay in shape. He’d begun each morning with a set of pushups and set ups, then pull ups on the top bunk. After a few days of being locked up, depression had settled over him. His thoughts of a quick release had faded away. As they did so, so too did his desire to keep himself in shape. He’d stopped working out. Stopped shaving. Stopped doing anything but wallowing in self-despair.

  The only thing that kept him going was Angie’s visits and knowing that she was working as hard as she could to get him out. But those visits had started to come less often. The last time he’d seen her had been just over a week ago.

  Why isn’t she coming back?

  He knew the answer to that. She wanted nothing to do with him. He was a convicted killer, even if those he had been convicted of killing weren’t because of him. He’d still killed – including Angie’s own ex-boyfriend. Marcus had done it in self-defense, of course, but…

  I don’t blame her. The best thing she can do is steer clear of me. Make a life for herself. Let me sit in here and rot, let me sit and think of everything I’ve done. Stay away, Angie. Stay away and keep our child safe. Don’t tell our child what I’ve done. What I am. Please. Keep our child safe.

  “Back it up,” Marcus heard from in front of him, then he felt a flare of pain in his knuckles. He growled in pain and surprise, backing up as he did so. One of the guards had come close to the bars, had rapped his nightstick against Marcus’s fingers, which had been wrapped absently around the bars. He
glared at the man but backed up just the same.

  “Open on four,” the guard called. There was a delay, then an alarm sounded and the bars slid to the side. “Rec time, scumbags.”

  Marcus was the last to leave the cell. The man across from him gave him a nervous glance and scuttled out in front of Marcus, hunched over as if in fear that Marcus might snap and attack him. The guard glared at Marcus and Marcus glared back, wiling himself to stand tall to the man but knowing he was failing miserably. Marcus felt almost as hunched over as the man in front of him.

  The yard was packed with most of the prisoners – nearly thirty in total. It wasn’t much, and most prisoners were only there for a few days before being transferred to other facilities after their trials ended. For whatever reason, Marcus’s trial kept getting pushed back – he didn’t know if he’d ever see the inside of a courtroom.

  I could rot here forever.

  The sun was high overhead, beating down mercilessly. Most of the prisoners sat underneath little tents made out of torn scraps of clothing, trying to keep as cool as possible. Marcus made his way over to a set of bleachers, completely abandoned on the far side of the small yard. He liked the loneliness.

  He sat down and stared straight ahead, already zoning out. Sweat was pouring down his face and back, staining his clothes dark, yet he hardly noticed it. The sun was burning down on him but he could only think of Angie and what had happened between them.

  Marcus barely heard the men walking up next to him. There were three of them – Marcus only noticed when the first one said something and brought him out of his trance. He glanced over at them. They were three men he hardly recognized, though he knew one of the men – most likely the leader – had been in there almost as long as Marcus had been.